Friday, February 6, 2015

NOTES: This takes place a long time before the events of the Avengers and surrounding films, back when Clint Barton (Hawkeye) was supposed to have killed Natasha (Black Widow,) but instead, he saved her and initiated her into S.H.I.E.L.D. But his very personal attempts to integrate her into a better life are not without consequence. It isn't long before he starts developing feelings for her - but Natasha has only ever used her beauty to manipulate (and likely kill) men, and she has no idea what to do.

***

"'Tasha," Clint breathes, his breath hot against her throat. His hand is on her cheek, his thumb brushing a stray tear away.

It's been a year since Budapest, and she still wakes up screaming.

"It's okay," he says, tracing the curve of her cheekbone. Everywhere he touches her is fire. "I'm here now. It's okay."

"Clint." It's becoming difficult to breathe.

His hand moves up, into her hair, and she can't bring herself to react because anyone else would have seen this coming.

How long has it been it like this? How long has he been perceiving every fleeting glance, every short laugh, every smile, as something so much more? How long has he, when she woke up screaming and went to him (because who else would care?), held her in his arms and wished it wasn't only because she was broken?

Clint holds her safely against him. She can feel his heartbeat against her cheek, quick and stumbling. "I'm here," he says.

Her breath hitches. "Clint —"

"It's over," he says into her hair. "It's over."

"Clint." She digs her nails into her palms.

He looks at her, his gaze steady, his fingers still entwined with her hair. "What?"

She's trembling. "I'm not a good woman," she says, the words spilling out before she can think them through. "I'm not a good person."

But Clint says, "I disagree," (because of course he does,) and when he leans in to kiss her, she doesn't pull away. Instead, she kisses him back — slowly at first, but then fiercely, her hands behind his neck, her lips tugging at his, teasing, drawing him in — because she is the Black Widow, and she knows how to manipulate a man, and she has felt so desperately alone since joining S.H.I.E.L.D. And despite what Clint Barton might believe, she is not a good person.

The Hawk tastes like salt and smoke, like Budapest.

She'll be sorry, but not tonight.

***

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Thursday, February 5, 2015

Hope is staring at me like I just murdered someone. Jonathan and Christianna take off together without another word, leaving me and Hope and a whole lot of tension in the room.

“What?” I bark.

“What do you mean, ‘what?’” She crosses her arms over her chest, her face flushed. “Where do I even begin? Where have you been? Who was that? And why are you wearing a freaking suit?”

“Why were you here with Jonathan?” I demand. I grit my teeth, hating the conflicting feelings inside me. The old me wants to grab her again and kiss her. The new me is raging for a fight, and that part is winning.

“We were here because we’ve been trying to find you.” Her voice shakes angrily.

“Took you until now to notice I was gone?” My fury rises a notch. “I sincerely doubt Jonathan cared much.”

Her eyes widen. “How can you say that after all that he’s done for you? After everything you and I have been through?”

I don’t answer, my face feeling like it’s carved out of stone. Hope has no idea what Jonathan “did for me,” and I don’t really feel like telling her right now.

“You know what?” she snaps. “Never mind.” She whirls around, but I lunge forward and catch her arm.

“Let go of me.” She yanks her arm away, and there are tears in her eyes when she turns to face me. I’m flooded with shame, enough to override the anger. This is Hope. The girl I love. The only one.

I let out my breath. “I was meeting with the tribunal of justice.” My words feel jagged in my throat. "That girl you just saw me with was ordered to bring me there to pay off my debt."

Hope’s face goes from flushed to pale as a sheet in two seconds flat. “Oh my God,” she whispers. “Are you okay? What ...”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” I don’t know what else to say.

I step up to her and watch her expression change again, her eyes soften a little. I put my hands on either side of her face and kiss her, drawing in the heat of her breath as a sigh escapes her.

Two days. Two days apart from her. But now that my lips are moving with hers, it feels like it had been years.

Her fingertips brush against my neck, feathery light touches that only make me want more. She steps away, and the absence of her is torture. I could get lost forever in the look she’s giving me, like I’m the only one for her too.

I close the distance to kiss her again as her hands grab at my jacket and wrangle it past my shoulders, and I pull off hers and chuck it to the floor. Her body pushes into mine again, and I stumble with her in my arms until my back hits the wall.

My heart is pounding for both of us, harder and faster with every movement of her lips against mine, with each subtle shift of her body. I slip my hand under her shirt and revel in the smoothness of her skin. She breathes out another sigh that’s almost a whimper, the sound inducing my eyes to close.

It’s only ever going to be her.

Ever.

***

Absolutely lovely.

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Friday, June 6, 2014

Markku turned quickly to see the servant girl standing in the hidden doorway leading to the kitchens. Her gentle face showed pride, and he knew that she would not stop him.

Dropping his bag, he went to her and wrapped her in his arms. Her embrace felt like the dawn of a new day.

He pulled her closer, burying his face in her dark hair.

“I can’t stay here.”

“I know,” she whispered.

He pulled away and saw a single tear roll down her cheek. He wiped it away with his thumb. “I’m so sorry, Edal. I wish there was a way…”

“You’ll find a way,” she whispered. “I know you will, and I’ll wait for you here.”

“Come with me,” he pleaded.

She shook her head. “No. Your father will know I did and he’ll come after you with more vengeance. Go alone, and find a place for us. Then send for me. I’ll be waiting.”

“How can I thank you?” he said, cradling her face in his hand. “You’ve shown me how joyful life can be. Leaving you... I…”

He was still in awe that a creature beautiful and brilliant as Edal had seen goodness in him when he had been his father’s tool. He looked into her crystal-blue eyes. The bliss that a simple smile from her could bring him was his only thought as he lowered his face to hers.

Their lips met softly. All the anger – the tension of having to hide who he was – fell away. Suddenly he could see into the future: his future. Edal wore a white gown, her long black tresses streaming down her back, with lavender flowers forming a crown on her head. She may not be a princess to his father, but she was every bit as elegant and gracious as Markku thought a princess should be.

He let his hand trace her spine, making her shiver and press herself closer to him. He sighed. Their lips parted, and they smiled nervously at each other. He wished he’d kissed her before now. It seemed wrong for him to leave after this.

Holding her hand, he picked up his pack and swung it over his shoulder. They left together through the servant’s door. She followed him until they reached a fork in the passage; one way led to the kitchens, the other to the stables.

They embraced once more. “I will come back for you,” he said. “I give you my word as a knight.”

She had tears in her eyes. “I know you will.”

“I love you, Edal.”

Her breath shook, but her eyes blazed. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him again. This time, he felt her desire in every move of her lips. Her arms were like shackles he never wanted released. He was her prisoner. But all too soon, he was freed.

She gazed up at him, her eyes filled with adoration. “And I love you, Markku. Please be safe.”

She frowned at him, and turned back to her contemplation of the ocean.

The sound of his boots walking away made her wince.

Not now, she thought miserably. Maybe not ever.

He had been so patient with her, letting her take her time, growing to feel so much for him over the course of this journey. But with Dusan gone, and an uncertain road ahead, she couldn’t give in to romance right now. No matter how much she’d have liked to.

A few seconds later, footsteps came toward her hurriedly. Something’s wrong. She turned, wondering what had happened.

Gunnar reappeared.

“What’s – ”

Before she knew what was happening, he was kissing her. She inhaled through her nose in surprise. She backed into the side of the ship. His mouth was persistent, never leaving hers. She gripped his forearms intending to push him away, but the feel of his hands on her waist, holding her so gently, made her hesitate. Then, his lips relaxed, moving softly against hers, and she felt a sigh escape her.

She melted into him. His hands wrapped around her. One found the small of her back, pulling her close. The other came to her jaw, stroking and angling her face as the kiss became tender. Without words, he was saying all the things she’d wanted him to say for weeks. He pulled away slightly, smiling against her mouth.

NOTES:This is from a fanfic Laura wrote regarding events before/during/after CAPTAIN AMERICA: THE WINTER SOLDIER. It ships Captain America/Steve Rogers & Black Widow/Natasha Romanoff. This scene, specifically, is what she imagined took place during the film -- We know that 1) Steve has a major battle and almost dies. 2) He wakes up in a hospital bed. 3) During all this, Natasha reveals all the records of her questionable past online (brave move!) in order to stop the bad guys. She imagined that Natasha went to look for Steve somewhere between events 1 and 2. This is that imagined scene.

***

Natasha drops to the sand, kneeling beside him. "Damn you, Rogers."

He raises his eyebrows. "You should be thanking me."

"For what?"

"Surviving."

Somehow she laughs, though her throat is raw from screaming. "What makes you think I care?"

Weakly, his mouth lifts into a smile. His eyes are blue and fierce, like summer skies. "You're a terrible liar."

"Am I?" she breathes.

"To me," he says.

Everything rises up at once, a cleansing, searing tide that wipes her clean...

It has been so long since Natasha was certain of anything, but this — this thing between them — it is aggressive and persistent, and the thought of losing him now, after all they've been through, after all they've fought for, was enough to buckle her knees.

On impulse, Natasha grips his face between her hands and kisses him, slow and sure. His lips move in time with hers, and his fingers find their way into her hair, pulling her closer. She can't remember how to breathe.

Steve Rogers doesn't need her, and she sure as hell doesn't need him. But she wants him, not because of an assignment from S.H.I.E.L.D. but because, when she's with him, sometimes for the briefest moment she believes this could be home.

"I'll comm a medical team," she says, her adrenaline pumping. Damn, that's a lot of blood. Some of the desperation must show in her voice, because Maria Hill doesn't ask questions. She simply agrees to come, then disconnects immediately.

At the question, heat flushes her face, burns through her veins. He watches her, unassuming. Willing to wait for her to gather her courage.

After a breath, she says, "I followed our plan."

Steve pauses, processing. A crease forms between his eyebrows, then vanishes as he remembers. "Your cover's blown," he says, and it isn't a question.

Natasha swallows. She's on the verge of something — a sob or a gasp or another scream — but she's repressed it all for so long, she can't even tell the difference. She wants to talk, but all she can do is nod.

Silence settles. There is only the river and their unsteady breaths.

"I don't have to see it," Steve says.

"See what?"

"Your history," he says.

She blinks, overcome. "Steve..."

"I don't have to see it," he says, not a sliver of deceit in his eyes. His smile is sunlight, chasing her shadows away. "I don't have to see any of it."

A single tear falls, slipping down her cheek. "Steve," she says. "Steve, you can't... I'm not..." Not who you think I am. Not the woman I'd like to be.

But he tightens his grip on her hand and says, "I trust you."

Without thinking, she leans down to kiss him again. He is inexperienced, allowing her to take the lead. And she does. He tastes like fire and steel and ash, like a thousand fractured yesterdays. She kisses him
harder, long and deep, desperate and damaged, like a promise of tomorrow.

***

For me, (admin) this is a perfect example of using emotion rather than body parts in a kiss scene. Lovely and genuine, yes? What do you think?